Angel On My Shoulder
by Euphora
Summary: What happens when a certain rider becomes demoralized by betrayal, and a certain elf becomes stressed of her unresolved feelings… suddenly go by blind instinct and follow their maddening thoughts to each other? What could possibly happen…? EA erotic fic
1. Teasing Thoughts Think Alike

**Title: Angel On My Shoulder  
Published: May 22, 2008  
Completed: April 6, 2008  
Notes: This was my first EVER published Fanfiction story, so go easy on it.  
Warnings: Spoilers (For those newly acquainted inheritance devotees) No Saphira (though she's not dead) AND Sexual Content.  
Disclaimer: Characters, events, and places belong to author Christopher Paolini.  
**

* * *

**Teasing Thoughts Think Alike**

The stone slab beneath him was cold and bitter, though Eragon Shadeslayer cared little for its effects. With his legs drawn up and crossed lethargically as he sits leaning against the wall of his quarters, he stared at nothing in particular, but simply watched with dotting sadness. The only sounds he could perceive were the small droplets of rain flowing off the windows like liquid diamond soaking the ground as it quickly absorbed into the soil. It offered a faint glow of Maya blue, filtered only by a lone candle sitting beside him. To him, it seemed like the only thing that had calmed him in spite of everything else. But the words chimed with his head, and like a guttering entity, they lingered.

_Morzan is your father…_

He'd grown up on nothing but malicious rumours and stories of that wretched man. But now... Now, he loathed him. To realize that he was his true father: a deceased traitor. Murtagh, his own brother, another traitor, only he still lived and breathed… but not for long. Eragon made a mental note of that in his head. He would kill Murtagh for his deceit, whether or not he had a choice to join Galbatorix. His crime to the Dwarven clan; murdering their beloved king Hrothgar had already spelled his utter doom. He would pay… He would kill Murtagh for his treachery, even if it killed him…

_He had no choice…_ his own voice said, softly chirming in his head as if it was a delicate tune from a willowed flute. _How do you think he feels? He's bind by the ancient language, Eragon. He cannot escape._

_He killed Hrothgar!_ Another voice came in. It was filled with anger that sounded as if fire itself was overwhelming it with madness for fuel. Eragon's mind was melted into this one, however, prepared to face off the other. _He never regretted it!_

_Is that the only excuse you can think of?_ Now it sounded as if it was teasing him. He didn't like it. His own thoughts teasing him! It only added more wood to the fire in his other burning thoughts. _Eragon, you have much anger within you. Don't you think it is clouding your judgment?_

_No! I offered to kill him, save him from his pain and all he did was laugh! Laughed! He refused! Sounds like he had choice to me!_

_Would you have done it if he accepted though?_ Eragon wouldn't respond, and he hated the fact. _You wouldn't have killed him_, it continued. _He was your brother, and you would have never forgiven yourself if you had killed your own brother…_

_I would have made the right decision though…_

_Yes, but you wouldn't have killed him. You couldn't kill him. And there were so many more options that could have passed his fate… other then killing him, and condemn a dragon to death, when there are only so few…_

_What then! What else could I have possibly done!_

_You could have captured him! You could have offered to capture him and help him break his bonds! But you didn't… your head was set on revenge…_

Eragon slid his hands through his hair, pulling at his locks and closing his eyes tighter. He felt utterly lost. He, now, was on the verge of tears. Tears! How weak he must seemed, how pathetic! He was so confused. His mind was confused. _No!_ he shouted, letting his own voice radiate through his troubled thoughts. _The dwarves… they would have killed him on sight… I couldn't…_

_The dwarves wouldn't be able to stand against__you and Saphira__. You could have protected him. Nasuada could have protected him. You know she would be willing to help, more than anything, to bring him back to us._

_I am a member of the clan! I would have been shunned and cursed! And Murtagh killed Hrothgar…! Orik would…_

_Is Orik not your friend? As much hatred flows through him as you, but he would understand, as much as it pained him._

_No…_

_Imagine if it had been you, Eragon… imagine if it had been you who had been dragged from the tunnels, transported to Uru'baen, forced to touch a dragon's egg unwillingly or not, forced to swear allegiance to him, tortured and poisoned until you do… imagine, Eragon… would you last against such things?_

Eragon pulled his hands out of his hair. He opened his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall, breathing as slow as could to pace his crumbling heart. _No…_ he admitted, his own voice softening. _I wouldn't last…_

_Then you know he would have died if he didn't. He wouldn't leave his dragon to another that Galbatorix magically binds him to unwillingly. He thought of his dragon, Eragon. You would have done exactly the same for Saphira. You know he has love in him. That's why he didn't capture you, because he cares._

_Yes…_

_Then you know there is still hope… he is your brother. Brothers forgive each other, do they not?_

_Yes…_

_Then you can forgive him…_

Eragon wiped his tears away. He wouldn't admit that he still carried hatred for Murtagh though. He still killed Hrothgar. He had a choice about that, and he killed him. He wouldn't forgive him so soon. _Forgiving him will take longer than you think…_he grumbled, gritting his teeth together and standing.

* * *

She paced her room, feeling the essence of the chilling air swathe her like layers upon layers of frigid moist. She felt, suddenly, suffocated under the humidity. The only light came from her window, and thus, her quaint little room was besieged in shadow and candlelight. The rain drew heavy upon the glass, and though it merely natural, it irritated her beyond normality.

Arya hands; they were shaking. She couldn't stay still for a minute. Seconds seemed to toll listlessly like hours. A minute was simply agitating. An hour would drive her to the brink of insanity. She paced deliberately =, thoughtless, so as to keep herself from growing furthermore annoyed with anything and everything. There was reason in madness, perhaps. Madness and mayhem of the mind was daunting, but that didn't stop her from feeling overwhelmingly anxious. Her fidgetiness was causality for something. Anything. But she couldn't name it.

It was something – _had_ to be something, something to cause such nuisance, something bickering with her mind. But what was it? There was a constant itch at the back of her mind, she knew the answer, but couldn't seem to grasp it. It was toying with her, that she knew; dangling right in front of her emerald eyes. She was going even more insane now just trying to find it; that _something._

The rain grew heavier, just as her annoyance grew. It was really starting to infuriate her now, and all she needed to do was come to realization, but even that was hard to accomplish, and she hated it.

It had not long been a month since the battle of the Burning Plains, the waste lands of Alagaesia. The Varden had gained victory; yes, but what did that accomplish? As far as Arya counted, all it had accomplished was death and pain. Needless destruction of souls too young to die. Death of so many other souls, all rotting and left as a feast for the crows, and pain that Galbatorix managed to hatch another dragon within so little time, and the fact that it was Murtagh, _Murtagh,_ appeared to only damage and shatter poor hearts. Not hers, but Eragon's.

She had noticed. _Of course_ she had noticed the change in his personality. He was different. An outcast. The young rider barely showed himself in public anymore, and when he did, it would only be brief. He was isolating himself, hardly ever coming out of the gloom of his cold and fairly overcast room. Murtagh's betrayal had shattered the poor boys heart, and it only added to the miserable happenings that filled his life; something else she noticed, only recently.

Sure, Nasuada seemed pained by the ill-fated news, but her heart was not as fragile as Eragon's. She had known Nasuada longer to know this, but she had spent more time with Eragon in the Varden and in Ellesmera to realize just _how_ fragile his heart truly was. And, honestly, it was nearly shattering her own…

For a boy, no, for a _man_ to appear so resilient and fragile at the same time. It was enigma.

It was only faint now, as if it had suddenly reduced to a thick fog. The rain now gently thrumming along the cool surface of the window, but still hard enough to make the usual dripping noise it made every time the droplets fell. It was peaceful to the ear, even hers; gently cooing her from all thoughts, relaxing her… but even now, her fingers still twitched and had to at least fidget with something. Insanity might just overpower her…

"Stop it!" she whispered, mainly to herself, in a hushed voice that still seemed to echo in all corners of her small room. "This is ridiculous." Her hands, now reaching for her forehead, gently massaged her temples in small round circles; they were still shaking, and she dropped to the floor and leaned against the wall, now finding it pointless to even walk without getting overly stressed.

_Fragile? – Eragon?_ Eragon's heart _was_ fragile. He was kind and caring, willing to help anyone in need of it. He didn't deserve such a betrayal, his now newly found _brother_. His heart would crumble if anyone close to him died. He would break, he would shatter. That's what was happening now. And she wasn't much help. Of course, her rejection must have added to the pressure. But he was young, she was old, and nothing could prevent the truth.

He _was_ young. Of course he would break, shatter and crumble. He was only seventeen, and already he has witnessed too much death. Too much has come from those he has loved, and which have faded away in death. She knew the list kept going, she only wondered if he knew that she did.

She breathed in, only to release it as a heavy sigh weighing down upon her. What was she thinking? Was it now that she suddenly realized just how much pain she might have caused him on the night of the Agaetí Blödhren? Surly he must have known what would happen if he continued his foolish quest, his adored affections. He must have. He should have known.

_Then why__did__he continue?_ A voice at the back of her mind said, firm and gentle. _Why do__you__think he did?_

She closed her eyes, feeling as if she could suddenly turn invisible and hide away from the world. Softly, she replied to her own voice, _I don't know…_

_Then what would you know, Arya?_ _How would you know what he was thinking that night?_ Arya's hands continued to shake; she didn't know how much longer she could withstand it. She knew her voice was right. It continued, _Perhaps he felt an urge, perhaps it was lust, or maybe it's because__everything__he said that night was true… and you know it._

"Stop it!" she repeated out loud again, her voice now loud and no longer held softness.

_You know it's true, Arya…_

"No…"

_It's not just a childish infatuation…_

Her eyes shot open, shaking her head, her hands now running through her midnight locks.

_How do you feel…?_

She stood suddenly, her hands at her sides now, preventing them from fidgeting any longer. Her own voice; teasing her at the back of her mind. She wasinsane, and she would ignore it, not knowing what to do anymore. She was so confused. She shouldn't be confused. She was an elf! She knew what her feelings were. As she had said on that night: "My feelings for you are those of a frie…"

_Are they…?_

"Stop!" She had had enough. Sick to death that her own yarning voice at the back her mind kept teasing her. _Teasing?_ Yes, it was teasing her, and she hated the fact. It wasn't right. It couldn't be right. But it was her own voice…

She was walking to her door now, only slowly, as if nothing else in the world mattered, and at the moment she didn't really care about the world. Her hands were still shaking!

The "something" that kept causing her growing tenseness was finally overwhelming her. It had been there all along; all she had to do was come to realization, and she finally knew what it was that was toying with her at the back of her mind. Dangling right in front of her. Making her insane. _Teasing_ her.

_Eragon…_

She opened her door and closed it behind her with an unmistakable force in her grip as she let go of the handle.


	2. Even The Rain Can Hurt

**Title: Angel On My Shoulder****  
Published: May 22, 2008  
****Completed: April 6, 2008****  
Notes: This was my first EVER published Fanfiction story, so go easy on it.  
Warnings: Spoilers (For those newly acquainted inheritance devotees) No Saphira (though she's not dead) AND Sexual Content.  
****Disclaimer: Characters, events, and places belong to author Christopher Paolini.****  
**

* * *

_**Even the rain can hurt**_

Everything seemed to clear when he was out within the palings of the stone corridors, the smell that seeped off the sand stone walls mixed with the cool air and rain, creating a fresh, hard, musky sent that somehow rejuvenated his thoughts from weariness. It relaxed him, and the soft brushes of the wind gently throbbing against his body from the large open windows along the corridor calmed him as he breathed in the air collating around him.

He walked until he reached the courtyard of Borromeo Castle, where mounds of hay collected by summer farmers were scattered in small bundles across the shards of grass; dirt paths with prints of all shapes and sizes laid between them, spreading in all directions and eventually leading to the iron gates leading out into Aberon. Small juniper trees stood tall and healthy, only few, then following the thick stone wall around the courtyard, cutting off the city from the castle.

Eragon finally relaxed at the base of one of the trees, gently nestling himself under the dappled leaves coaxing the branches, feeling the slight, stinging coldness prick him every time the due fell from the leaves and spill into his hair, left by the rain that had fallen from the grey-stone clouds so heavily. He didn't care. It didn't bother him that bitter cold droplets were still falling and soiling the ground; only faintly, as if it were only heavy mist. It was enough to dampen his face and his hair, which was already soaked and dripping wet. But, again, he didn't care.

Time didn't seem limited anymore, and alone with the soft misty rain upon his cheeks, he found that with no one around here to disturbed him, he could finally relax without having to think about Murtagh or anything to do with the war. He wanted to leave it all. But he, of all people, knew he couldn't though.

It wasn't just Murtagh; how he wished it would end there, the betrayal, all the oaths, all the pain caused by betrayal. He wished it ended there. He thought it would after the rescue of Katrina, and finally relinquishing the Ra'zac along with his _true_brother, Roran, but it didn't. _Something_was still there.

He ran his hand over his gently composed face, feeling the dampness swathe underneath his skin from the rain. He pulled his hands through his hair, squeezing his brown locks through the webs of his fingers, and feeling the soaked water run down his knuckles like a creek through a canyon.

It bothered him. It bothered him how he knew what that _something_was, but was he too ashamed to admit it without causing his heart to clench, to skip a beat every time he thought of it, and to become a hopeless idiot every time it crossed his mind; but to mourn for what he could not have… that was painful, but at least that was _something._

_Passion…_passion was that something, and it grew and leered at him cunningly to the form an elf that practically clawed his heart out with her own cold bare hands every time he saw her. It was above the pain of Murtagh, above Galbatorix and above the war. _Arya_was that something that kept toying with his mind, his heart, the something that was still there. His love for her was still there. It wouldn't go away. It was driving him insane with every intake of air.

"_Too young… Too old…"_

"_Princess… Rider…"_

"_Human… Elf…"_

The same words kept repeating over and over again, as if playing like a half haunting melody that enjoyed tormenting him. They had been words of truth, words that had been spoken in the Ancient Language; several times…

Of course, it was all true. Different ages, different ranks and different species. But did it really matter?

He had hoped it didn't…

But obviously fate was unkind to him, just like all other things in his miserable life. He was a child, and even as he gripped his leather leggings with a strong hand because he was too selfish to admit it, he was a child. What use was it to even _try_to get along with the elf without upsetting her, let alone speaking of relationships? She would never accept that anyway…

It started raining again. The tree he sat under offered itself as a shelter, but even then the rain would simply slide down the leaves and onto him, and in a matter of minutes he was soaking wet, clothes sticking to his skin, water dripping from his hair, skin going cold. _Well that's just great._

He didn't care.

Everyone he ever did care about is either dead or suffering. He wasn't sure how Saphira felt, but if he was feeling this much agony then so should she. His agony would be passed onto her, and there was nothing he could do about it. Fate had been ill to her as well. Both of them.

And then it stopped. The rain slowed again, then turned to mist, dusting moist against his soft cheeks once more, and then it was only ever mist. But the bitter cold hit his body like a tipped dagger, striking his body with every nerve impelled by the sudden chilliness. His hands were shaking, but whether it was from the dropping temperature or something else, he didn't know.

Even amidst the ashen clouds, he could tell that night would be settling in soon, and the coldness was already growing to such an extent. The darkness seeping through clouds gave him the logical, obvious hint. And the smell in the air, the decreasing temperature. Still, he didn't care.

"You ought to be inside, Eragon." He froze when the voice spoke up, feeling his stomach drop dead. The gentle voice filled with sympathy; it was no more than a soft murmur like the cooing of a flowing river. "It might do you harm."

When he turned, he saw only what his heart desired the most, but at the same time, wished it was the one person he would never have to face again without the humiliation… the _something_that passion took the form of and leered at him with everlasting affection.

"Arya." His own voice was soft, apart from the shivers that escaped his mouth after. She was standing there alone. She was wet… Had she been standing out in the rain also? How long had she'd been standing there!? He grew still suddenly, feeling anxious.

Her hair was soaked, falling to her perfectly formed shoulders, sticking to her skin. She was just as wet as he was. Her artistic features as pale as her normal tone, water trailing down her cheeks, clothes saturated. She had been standing out here this whole time. But why?

"What are you doing here?" said Eragon, having the urge to stand up suddenly and out from under the tree, only feeling more water fall as he pushed the branches aside.

"What are _you_doing here?" she retracted, her voice betraying nothing, not even the shivers that ran up her spine from the rain. Eragon sighed, seeing the thick foggy air seep out of his nose as he breathed out, as if the frost itself started forming within his nose. So, were they to act like children now? Was that it?

Every time he looked at her he felt his gut wrench and pull at his insides. He felt his passion spring to the foremost point of his mind, body and soul, but this time he was lucky enough to control it. It still didn't hide the fact that he was going insane! No more pain; he didn't want it. Fate _was_being cruel. "I needed some air," he finally answered. "The castle walls can be… somewhat constricting sometimes. Coming out here seemed a good idea at the time. Though now, I'm not quite sure." He managed to block his emotions. However, if it would stop her from easily reading them like an open book, he didn't know.

"You chose a rather peculiar time to stand out here then, did you not?" she noted, inclining her head as though intrigued by his disposition.

His eyes narrowed to the muddy ground, and watched. He was avoiding the stern look she suddenly gave him; her flourishing green eyes never seemed to cast to another direction but him. His blood rushed to his head, and he was forced to look away to a tattered puddle left by the rain.

"I suppose." His voice cut off to a mellowed whisper. There was still a faint mist that lingered around them, somehow mesmerizing, yet still forlorn. But the castle, the gates; everything was still visible through the saturating mist. And the coldness was still bitting him in every direction; he wasn't sure what Arya felt, but she was just as pale as he was. "Why are you out here?" he finally looked up to her, meeting her hypnotic gaze, and finding what courage he had before it deserted him.

"Walking." It was a simple answer, a straight answer. Eragon expected more from her then just that, but he wouldn't push her. He bowed his head slightly, enough for his soaked hair to fall over his deep brown eyes, but he still looked at her and she returned the gaze like icy pelts sprawling straight for toward him. And then silence. It stretched out, and it was agonizing; Eragon was beginning to fidget and Arya simply tucked a fallen wet strand behind her perfectly pointed ears. Still silence. Was she expecting him to reply to that simple answer? _What?_ She was acting rather odd, and from his rather heart-aching experience, even he could tell she was not herself. She would have left him there in the mist if she were. That was the casual Arya thing to do, was it not?

Mindlessly, he cleared his throat and looked at her, straightening his posture and lifting his head at the same time. "I… um, better be going then. It's getting rather late and, well cold too…" He pulled his hair back, absorbing the water as he squeezed his hair through his fingers, and making himself look somewhat more respectable in her presence. "I pray you have a good night, Arya Svit-kona."

He began walking away, striding past without so much as a nod, and leaving her alone in the mist. He avoided her gaze, though she seemed conflicted as he passed her without further contemplation.

"Eragon."

And then he stopped, and couldn't help it. He closed his eyes painfully and sighed. He didn't want to stop, but obviously his body wasn't sharing the same thought or sentiment as his mind was. He was compelled, forever and always, no matter her feelings toward him. Resigned, spiteful, and affectionate, he was resigned to her will. Feeling shivers run down his spine, he stayed where he was, unmoving. He wanted to walk away, but he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot with no escape. He didn't know if he had the courage to defy her wish anyway.

He felt her come up behind him; her steps were lithe and quiet, impossible to hear if he were still human. Eragon felt his heart stop, not literally, but it was painful enough to cause him to feel himself tremble. He sighed deeply once again, and he allows it to be heard. Perhaps she would sense his distress within that one gesture, and then perhaps she would let him walk on like nothing had ever happened.

He was a fool to think such a thing.

She was beside him now, her captivating eyes bearing into his like fire and ice. And, as she drew ever-so near, her scent of crushed pine needles drew heavy upon his senses. He stopped breathing as the enrapturing smell caused him to shudder involuntarily. Though, evidentially, he continued when he was sure he could manage the intoxicating aroma. _What is happening to me?_ She didn't notice his conflict, much to his latent relief. Nevertheless, he found it impossible to look away from her.

"I'm sorry," she spoke only in hushed tones, but her breath washed against his skin as she drew dangerously closer. Oh, she was _killing_ him. _I hate you,_ he thought internally.

"What for?" He whispered, though he knew the answer. He needed to hear her say it. Something about the night, about her, sparked a boiling inferno inside him. With Arya standing beside him, looking straight into his eyes, being so close to him… it only made it worse. Infinitely more worse. She had no idea what she was doing to him. Would she ever know...?

"Eragon," her voice was firm now, almost demanding. "You know why."

_Oh._

He still couldn't turn away, as much as he wanted to. His mind was pulling in all directions, but mostly toward Arya. She was intoxicating him, _suffocating_ him. He didn't know what else to do. She was so close, and all he could do was listen and survive her wrath of beauty.

"I'm sorry, Eragon," she said again, voice going soft once more, speaking in the tongue of the ancient language. "I'm sorry for everything I have done to you," she continued. "For everything I might have made you felt, for everything I might have made you endure," she sighed, still looking at him. "I know what you must feel now is excruciating, and I'm sorry for your loss. I was cruel that night; during the Agaetí Blödhren, but you must understand that all that I spoke of must stand, for you must have also known what I felt that night." He watched, silently, as she began to rub her arms. He also noticed that she was fidgeting, rather impulsively. _How odd._

Eragon remained calm, but inside he was still raging with something akin to loathing and devotion. "What you felt?" he dared to ask, joining her in the ancient language. _No lies now, elf._

She nodded, slowly. "I felt terrible that night, Eragon. You must understand that even though I cannot return your feelings in the way you had hoped, doesn't mean we still cannot remain friends like we once were. I value our friendship very highly, Eragon, and I would wish to keep it that way."

She was pleading, he realized. She was willing to make amends for the emotional endures they had both committed to each other. She wanted that, but he wanted more… but obviously this was as far as she was willing to go. At least he was grateful for that, but it still didn't help the fact that he continued to feel his gut wrench every time his eyes found her.

"We already discussed this, Arya…"

"Yes we did, but that was in the verge of battle. I want to discuss this _now_, with no battles, no politics; just us."

He couldn't help but smile when she had said "_just us."_It meant that she cared for him when he thought she didn't. He was grateful… for something.

He sighed again, and he leaned forward slightly, but not too close. That was as far as he would go… but Arya wasn't moving when he made the slight doting gesture. "You know I value our friendship, Arya, more than anything," he said. "Apart from Saphira, you are the closest friend I have…" he paused. "I only thought… hoped that…"

"Hoped that it could be something more." It wasn't a question. There was no hateful tone in her words. They were all gentle, understanding words.

He turned away from her then, facing the ground again. He felt powerless. There was nothing he could do to stop his feelings, and as much as it caused such conflict within him, conflict between Arya and himself… he _didn't_want them to go away. He _wanted her…_

Instead, he nodded; hoping it was thing to do. He still refused to look her in the eye again

And then he felt cool, overly rigid and soft fingers trailing up his back. He stiffened. He didn't believe it at first, but when the feeling of her fingers, slowly tracing the curve of his back and reaching his shoulder before she settled them there, he closed his eyes and only wished it could last. She had touched him, that's all, and this is what he felt. Something within, something deep and profound, nameless to his calling, stirred violently.

"It is normal to develop feelings for someone beyond the bonds of friendship, Eragon," she thrummed quietly, leaning closer. The elf was completely oblivious to the torment raging within him. "Do not think that our friendship will end because of these…"

He looked up then, feeling suddenly spiteful and _extremely _uncomfortable. "I understand…" He did, but he wished she would remove her hand, it only caused him more pain, and all she was doing was holding his shoulder… He so confused. What was he doing? What was _she_ doing? To him!

Regretfully, he gently shrugged off her hand, showing his uncomfortableness towards her. "I'm sorry…" he said. "But you must understand how _I_feel. I… I have tried to forget my feelings for you; to _hate _you even, with all my heart," he staggered with his words, feeling the ancient language grip him for the truth to be revealed. "I… cannot…"

"I'm not asking you to…"

"But it's what you want," He finally found the courage to stand away from her, the mist in the night air shifting and swirling in his movements. "And I'm sorry for that." _No you're not_.

And at this, Eragon finally found some form of emotional flaw within her obscured features. She was _confused_. "How so?" she asked.

And then he was looking down again, his face covered by his wet hair again. How much longer was he going to suffer; all because of passion and love. It would kill him one day, and he knew it.

"Because it will never happen," he affirmed "As much as I, myself…" _No you don't. Don't lie._ "I cannot. I apologize, Arya Svit-kona, but it is late and I must be getting back to my room. Goodnight." He rushed his words, trying unbelievably hard to condemn his feelings behind a mask of stone, but he knew she had already taken notice of them, as usual. She had seen everything.

And then he was leaving again, and this time he wouldn't be stopped, not this time. Turning his heel and walking away from her to avoid anymore humiliation, he left her alone and without respite. He'd had enough, he didn't need any more. He couldn't hear her coming after him. She was actually letting him go. Inside him, he already felt a sigh of relief flow through him, but it wouldn't be enough to extinguish everything else. He kept walking, and never wanting to stop.

* * *

Behind him, Arya stood where he had left, watching him disappear within the mist and finally into the walls Borromeo Castle. She would not follow him, as much as she wanted to explain just _how sorry_ she truly was, she wouldn't follow him, and she was left alone in the bitter cold night until she retreated back to her own rooms. She hated it when things became so complicated between them. Driving her practically _insane…_

It was still there... the _something_ that kept clawing and hacking into the fores of her mind. But she would not follow him. It was clear that he wanted to be left alone, so she let him walk away.

Somethingwas filling her with a new desire, something she hadn't felt for a long time, and she was beginning to wonder, only briefly, if it was what she wanted... _if only he knew... _How imprudent of her, to feel and want something so...

_What?_ _What do you want, Arya?  
_

* * *

Eragon was on the verge of literally falling to his knees and crying out until every breath in his lungs evaporated to a dying breath. How much crueller would fate be to him? And Arya! How much cruller could she possibly be?! Would she ever know? Would she ever realize just how much he loved her?

With his hair still soaked, his cloths still wet, he staggered into his room. The candle that had stood silently beside him previously, still burned, still lived, the flames still licking at the air until it would burn what wax was left. It would still burn, hopefully for another hour.

He pulled his shirt up over his shoulders and tossed it into a far corner, not having the decency to hang it over a chair to dry. He couldn't be bothered. All he wanted to do was lie in his bed under the warmth of his blankets, and forget the day. His hair was still wet, so were his leggings, but he didn't care, still didn't.

He fell to his bed, his cheek falling hard to the soft mattress beneath him. He slipped under the blankets, pulling them close toward him as if they were the only things he could treasure safely. Feeling himself gently slip into his trance, he suddenly felt a pang of guilt; guilt of leaving Arya there, alone in the courtyard, with nothing to comfort her but the cold mist. He forgot it soon. The thought had only crossed his mind once, only briefly, and soon his was relaxing for the first time in ages, forgetting Arya and all that had occurred in that day.

It was still there though. The words that kept repeating in his mind second after second, and never seeming to leave him alone. Haunting words, unforgettable words, words that would still be reminding him of what passion took form of, leering at him_, teasing him._

"_Too young… Too old…"_

"_Princess… Rider…"_

_"Human… Elf…"_

"Confound you, Arya." He muttered, beyond falling into a light trance.


	3. A Dream? No, This Is Real

**Title: Angel On My Shoulder****  
Published: May 22, 2008  
****Completed: April 6, 2008****  
Notes: This was my first EVER published Fanfiction story, so go easy on it.  
Warnings: Spoilers (For those newly acquainted inheritance devotees) No Saphira (though she's not dead) AND Sexual Content.  
****Disclaimer: Characters, events, and places belong to author Christopher Paolini.****  
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* * *

_**"A dream? No, this is real."**_

It had been an hour, a confounding hour, and it was destroying her. Her hands, they were still shaking, over and over again as if some unknowable force had sent an icy raft of crucifying flames throughout her cold and lissom fingers, and it was growing worse over the minute.

She had remained calm; calm as a lifeless corpse waiting to be buried and rotted underneath the ground for the rest of her dead and selfless course, she had to remain calm throughout the entire conversation between herself and Eragon. She had cautiously remained optimistic, had toremain optimistic. Even as she had mentally told herself over and over again to _relax, relax, relax…_she never did. She couldn't stay still for a single pathetic second.

She was sure Eragon had noticed it, the way he kept staring at her down at the courtyard. Did he not think she knew? That through every waking second they spent together, that she was causing him to mentally despise her for having such an excruciating effect on him, morally and physically? But whydid she have this affect on him? Whydid he have to love her_;_of all people. Was it only now she was realizing how much he loved her?

And why was _that_affecting her so?

Even as she sank to the cold floor of her room, she only felt herself sink deeper. Things, as they were already, couldn't possibly get any more complicated between them, and even if they _somehow_formed a love beyond the bonds of friendship, it could never work. There was a war, and she didn't need him neglecting his studies. His sworn duties.

And she was way too old for him.

_Excuses…_the voiced chimed at the back of her head, her teasing thoughts returning to fiddle with her mind once more. She ignored them, gently keeping her optimistic level at ease, and avoiding any more unnecessary breakdowns that she didn't want; _no longer needed_, not at this hour; it was too late.

There was no denying it though, she realized this as she lifted her hands to gently soothe the ach in her temples. The voice, as much as she hated it, he guilty conscious was right.

They were only excuses, only _ever_ excuses, but the facts still stood. He was too young, he had entire lifetime to look forward to, an immortal life. She was too broken for him, too detached from reality and sworn to a people negligent of human/elf relationships. What drew him to her? What thought permitted him to feel so affectionate? It confused her as much as it thrilled her.

Arya closed her eyes, feeling the coldness peck her body. It was raining, again. The pulsing sound of water merely rushing along the glass of her window echoed softly throughout her quarters. It was gentle, soothing, but it didn't stop Arya from pondering. Nothing could.

Of course, to say that she didn't hold feelings for Eragon wouldn't entirely be true. She admired him for his loyalty and will, his heart, his vitality and strength to invoke power within others. He idealized self preservation, befriended her when she allowed little to no contact from anyone since the death of her beloved companions, and she had allowed it.

But could _that_possibly lead to love? What was love anyway?

When her eyes opened, all she could see was darkness engulfing her like a thick woollen blanket coaxing her every breath of air. No sounds, nothing; nothing but the rain to accompany her in her wilful internal contemplations. Would the voices of her mind be the only ones to tell her the meaning of what her insanity decreed, what it was pointing to?

What she _needed._

What she wanted, and...

Desired above all else?

In that moment, in that single moment she had been thinking of him, of Eragon, and her hands had stopped shaking. She knew then, absolutely and without doubt.

She stood suddenly, seemingly to repeat her previous actions before she had seen him in the courtyard. She needed to see him. She _would_ see him, _now_, and this time explain everything to him.

_No, there is a war; he would neglect everything you have worked so hard to build!_It was another voice, stirring and sensible, different from the other one, more pulsing and demanding, emotionless and selfless. She wasn't listening; she was already heading for the door, removing her boots in the process and tossing them aside. Her decision was made and she would see it through.

_Turn back…! This is ridiculous…_As she walked on toward her destination, her aching voice continued its unsuccessful mission to sabotage her, but she took no notice of it, continuing her present course, but there was still and inkling inside her to succumb to its wishes, knowing they were _half_ true…

What would she know? How was she to know if he would do something that foolish anyway? Skipping to conclusions she found pointless at this moment wasn't really helping her either…

A sudden hint of unease crossed her. _What_was she doing? She _shouldn't_ be doing this… It still didn't stop her from turning the corner that led to his room.

_Stop, you will only make matters worse!_The door lingered in front of her, somewhat toying with her like so many other things before it. The voice, it was still there, but it no longer bothered her, she wasn't listening to it, she wouldn't now; it wasn't going to stop her.

She paused outside his room, feeling her sensible side mulling over again to turn back, but the other side was telling her to press forward. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She needed to be _sure_that this was the right decision, but she _needed_to tell him, tell him that she wasn't the selfless young elf she made herself out to be, tell him that she was not, _at all_, heartless…

… and that she really wanted this…

She took another deep breath, closed her eyes, opened the door and closed it softly behind her.

There he was, lying on his bed, his stomach to the soft mattress beneath him, his sheets crumpled and fanned out in all directions and… they were _wet_.

Why were they wet? Was he in _that much_ of a hurry to be away from her, forgetting to dry himself off as much as his clothes? His shirt was laying in a crippled heap in the corner as she searched the room for no apparent reason, merely interest, but was easily spotted by the lonely candle sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, its flames still licking at the cool air as the rain continued to fall outside, visible droplets along Eragon's windowpane running down the colourless glass.

He hadn't moved, hadn't flinched nor jerked when Arya entered his darkened room. He should have. His newly found elvin sensors were akin to hers, perhaps not as attuned, but he still should have noticed her trembling steps outside his door, instead he just laid there, not moving, not bothering, soft intakes of fresh air forming in and out his nostrils. He looked…peacefully content_,_above their last encounter, of course.

Her heart was pounding, having not felt that for a fairly long time. Slowly, she walked quietly to the side of his bed. No sounds, nothing but the soft pelts of rain, nothing but the pale candlelight to give her light within the dark, even then she could still see.

She kneeled down beside his bed, her knees reaching the cool floor as she bent down and sat in the nook of her calves, resembling the position of Dwarven payer. There would be no prayers tonight, no wishes, only choice to decide her will, and she was _hardly_a dwarf.

He still didn't move, but Arya wasn't interested in his movements at the moment, merely concentrating on containing the simmering fire boiling within her abdomen.

She leaned down slightly, relaxing on her hand and leaning into it gently, now coming within height of Eragon's damp face. She was hardly relaxing at this stage, but still, she wouldn't be leaving now.

She only stared at him now, frozen and suddenly rooted to the position she had placed herself in; kneeling on the ground, leaning on her hand, her head barely inches from his, and her adorned emerald eyes unable to turn away from his damped, peaceful and sober face. No, she wouldn't be leaving… not now.

She tentatively raised her other hand slowly, leaning on the other gently to steady herself as much as the engulfing pounds inside her chest were heaving. _No, No, No!_Her sensible voice was screaming at her now, calling for her to turn back, to retreat and find another means of amendments. She sealed off the voice.

Her hand delicately brushed the side of his face, tracing over the dampened areas that coaxed his gently formed features. Her knuckles, sliding softly over his cheek bones like a melodic harp. Her wrist twisted slowly so that the back of her hand was tenderly brushing his jaw line with soft fingers.

She no longer felt the fidgeting overwhelm her. She no longer felt her sensible voice cascade her thoughts with pulsing decisions and confusions. She felt…_relieved._But she hadn't spoken her deepest thoughts yet, the main reason why she was here in the first place.

"If only you knew…" she spoke softly, no longer caring for what it may cause, her deepest thoughts now projecting. There was a slight gleam in her emerald eyes. She knew she had to do this now, or lose her supreme opportunity. Her head was slowly inching closer to his, forgetting her sensible voice at the back of her mind, and following what her heart trulydesired. She could feel his enticing body heat upon her face…

Eragon's eyes opened, his sudden piercing gaze pricking her like tipped thorns. Arya paused, her hand somewhat attached to his sweaty cheek.

He didn't move. His deep brown eyes could be seen clearly through the soft wavers of the candle light. They were wide, cautious and _stunned_. He couldn't move. Arya could feel his quick pulses of air fathom against her palm. They were cold, hitting the same soft spot of her hand with each hard intake. Arya only returned the gaze, having nowhere else to portray her glittering eyes. Her sudden stiffness showed through her brick of emotions. She couldn't possibly imagine Eragon's.

"Arya?" his voice was slightly breathless, slight and wavering. There was no escaping now. Arya had pushed herself into a position where it bid impossible to do so.

"Yes." she whispered

"What…" his faded off, the question clearly written upon his face. Arya's hand, still upon his cheek, gently slid up and into his wet hair, feeling it moist and soak between her fingers. Eragon's eyes were like saucers, still wide and stunned beyond bewilderment. Her fingernails softly grazed his scalp, absently continuing to run her hand through his hair. She leaned in toward him slightly.

"As I said," she whispered softly, her breath catching her words, and leaning in closer until she could feel his quickened breaths upon her lips. "I'm sorry."

Her lips, so soft and sweet, caught his in a suave movement of passion that stunned him to cold ice, and his eye lids slipped closed. Her hand embedded in his hair, pulled him closer until their foreheads were together, meeting his damp brow against her cool skin. Eragon, frozen beyond ice, melted into her fiery passion, lips moving against hers with soft ease. Arya's tongue, a brief surprise to Eragon, penetrated past his lips and slipped into his mouth, savouring him as if it were their last moment. Eragon compelled himself forward, feeling Arya's tongue rub and nib against his, returning the ecstatic movement against her own.

Breathless, Arya pulled back slowly, her forehead never motioning away from his, her eyes ablaze with something akin to amazement of her own actions. She looked at Eragon. His breathing had eased, soft and slow, but his eyes were closed. Her hand slipped out of his tangled hair and down to the nook of his neck, where most of the water squeezed from his hair by Arya, ran down like tangled veins. She gently massaged his neck with little round circles.

She could feel his muscles tighten and loosen within the comfort her hand was giving him. She softly mingled her fingers through his hair at the back of his head, gently pulling at it and rubbing under the strands. He sighed longingly, and his eyes finally slipped open, his brown eyes gazing into her hypnotic emeralds.

And then he smiled.

It seemed as if he had never smiled. It had been so long since she had seen a spark of happiness within the young Rider's eyes, but for it to arouse in the affections of an adorned smile, made her stomach flutter to the mercy of his cunning smile. She smiled, twisting up at the sides of her cheeks, it was gorgeous and Eragon couldn't seem take his hypnotized eyes away from it.

He moved forward again, lips brushing his with a devotion Eragon couldn't seem to mimic, her hand at the back of his neck fidgeting with his wet curls of hair, her tongue pressing forward again. With assurance in his eyes as he closed them for a second time, he leaned up slightly into the kiss, stood slowly on his elbows and applied more pressure to the heated passion, sighing softly against her lips.

Eragon lifted his hand, leaning slightly on his elbow, and slipped it to rest at the nook between her shoulder and neck, rubbing his palm slightly against her soft skin. Their lips still locked, Arya stood up on her knees, her other hand now running through his hair with swift fingers curling with his thin strands.

Eragon's hand slipped to her arm, pulling at it gently, gesturing for her to come closer, as if he were desperate to keep what moments they had left. Arya hesitated slightly. She had come here to _explain,_reason with him, and tell what truths she held against him. It wasn't supposed to go this far. _What_was she doing?

_You're doing what your heart has ever so long desired, dear Arya._The voice at the back of her head was assuring, soft and gentle, nothing like her sensible. She should have just told him and then left. She should have… but she knew better. She knew she was too lost, too flushed to even bring up her reasons. She had already explained everything to him by what she was doing now. And she didn't want to leave him.

She leaned into him, his hand still softly gripping her arm with gentle hands. No more hesitations, not now.

She allowed him to pull her towards him, his hand sliding up and down her arms. He leaned back, backing up slowly, sheets ruffling under him. Arya took her hand away from his head, and placed it on the bed and hauled herself up onto the soft mattress, easing herself slowly but unsurely.

Eragon laid back, his hand reaching for Arya. He looked up at her; she was on her hands and knees, starring down at him with adoring eyes looming deep into his. When no words could be passed between them, Arya took the risk by easing closer toward him, the sheets shifting under her knees as she lowered herself beside him. Eragon turned his head, his eyes apparent within the candle light, seemingly glowing like the pale moonlight, staring onlyat her. She only returned the gaze.

Her hand, gliding through thin air, came to rest upon his abdomen. Eragon shuddered stiffly, closing his eyes suddenly, and feeling her cold hand on his damp skin. She snaked her hand up, tracing the curve points of his muscles, the heat of his soft skin under her cold hand. Hiseyes were closed, and he was taking sharp intakes of breath from a few mere touches she had on him_. _Her eyes never stowed away from him. She couldn't.

Leaving off the teasing caress, Arya slid her hand up to his bare shoulder, holding in her breath for what she was about to do next. She balanced herself as she sat up and propped her leg over his waist and slipped into his lap. Eragon's eyes shot open, staring up at Arya sitting upon his lap. His mind, still splitting in different directions, hammered at him to remain calm..

He reached up, stretching his arm enough to reach her, and touched her cheek delicately with three fingers. They stayed like that for several minutes, staring deeply at each other with nothing but pure passion lingering within their eyes. Within those long, pulsing minutes he thought lasted for hours, Eragon gathered his courage and moved his hand down lower, tracing down, his hand moving down through the valley of her breasts, over her stomach, until finally he left it to rest at her hip, where he paused slightly, hesitating with the briefest second until he saw the twinkling hint within Arya's green eyes as he looked up again. It was a sign; Eragon knew that. It was an urge, _permission_, and Eragon felt his courage discarded, because now, he felt he didn't need it to get through what could possibly happen…

His hand, soft and gentle, slipped under her linen tunic.

Arya sighed, closing her eyes. She knew it would come to this, when all she had to do was explain to him, and perhaps keep him away until the war was over. But right now, as he massaged gently under her shirt, it was enticing, his touch made her shudder, made her gasp…

He twisted his hand around, knuckles softly scraping her skin as he gripped the ends of her tunic, his other hand running up her leg, taunting her, over her thigh and finally under her tunic, meeting with his other hand, and together they slowly lifted up the fabric. Arya leaned down brushing her lips against his for the briefest moment, before raising her arms and allowing Eragon to lift the tunic up and over her head, revealing the perfect swell of her breasts before his bewildered eyes. He dropped the discarded fabric to the ground.

Arya didn't want to open her eyes; her shuddering will compelled her to do so. She could feel Eragon's gaze upon her and even with her eyes closed she felt the warm sense of possession that his eyes raked her with, and now, there was no going back.

She slowly opened her eyes, only to see his own already longingly infiltrating hers. She was leaning down, her body pressed against his as their lips met again, full of exploring tongues and feathering hands. Eragon stroked her side lightly, fingertips running from her hip to her shoulder as if he couldn't bear to stop touching her, every nerve singing with wanton lust.

And then he slipped his thumbs under the waistband of her black leggings. Arya paused in her kisses, catching her breath, her lips still lingering on his for a moment, before she left her head to rest in the nook of his shoulder. Eragon soon stoped, thoughts of her objecting reaching into his mind. He pulled back his hands.

"No," Arya whispered into his neck, her sweet breath washing against his skin. "Don't stop."

He turned his head, leaning against hers resting in his shoulder, her exquisite aroma filling his nose. "I... I'm not so sure... Are _you_ sure?" he spoke softly into her ear, rubbing his head against her own.

She smiled softly, lifting her head from his shoulder and kissing him again. Eragon could feel her smile against his lips, and with assurance, he moved his hands back to her waistband. His hands slipped under the leather, rubbing his palms against her buttocks and squeezing softly in massaging circles. Her moan against his lips was beautiful, only imploring him to rub harder. Her leggings loosened and Eragon gripped the hems with his thumbs and slowly pulled down her leggings.

Arya sat up, her hips rubbing against his groin. He gasped, his grip on her leggings tightening. Things had suddenly taken a turn, the heat around them suddenly growing intense. Arya saw his reaction, and couldn't help but fathom a small smile. She paused slightly, and then tentatively moved her hips again, her hands gripping his shoulders, rubbing against his groin harder. Eragon closed his eyes, bitting back the urge to groan when she moved her hips _again_.

"Arya…" There was a slight tremor in his voice_,_ a desperate, pleading tone. He made a sound, something between a gasp and a scoff, sharp intakes of breath within each inhale. "… Arya, stop…"

She paused again, hearing the pleading tone in his voice. She held back her own urge to tell him that she enjoyed his helplessness. Eragon opened his eyes, staring up at her. His hands hadn't moved from her waistband, they were still planted underneath the leather. Eragon's breath escaped his mouth, his hands slipped up her back, the palms unbelievably warm against her bare skin, and before Arya had a chance to wonder what he was doing, Eragon had rolled her under him. Palms stroking her upper body as they went down again, with no hesitations, he eased her leggings down. Arya arched her back up slightly, hips raising to make it easier for him.

Eragon leaned down, lips brushing her smooth chest, chastely kissing her skin as he pulled down her leggings, hands sliding down her perfect legs where the leather had been previously. He went down, sucking her skin with each tender kiss as he moved, and savouring every inch of her stomach with his kisses. Arya was at the mercy of his lips, hand engulfed into his wet hair, pulling at the strands softly until she felt her entire body bare. Her leggings removed, Eragon dropped them with her tunic, the puddle of cloths growing. Arya pulled him up, her grip tightening on his hair as their lips melted to each other again.

Arya had hooked her thumbs under his own waistband just as he had hers a moment ago. She eased them down off his hips, seeing the muscles of his stomach tense. When she could pull them down no further, Eragon took charge and kicked them off with his feet, along with his wretched boots.

Eragon was staring, his eyes greedy on her bare skin. His gaze was almost as intense as his touch, and Arya felt his eyes run over every inch of her. No slackening of desire there; his delicate little murmur of need told her more than a thousand sonnets praising her beauty. Beauty he saw, and _made_ her feel.

He opened his mouth, but no words were said. He braced his arms on either side of her to keep most of his weight off her seemingly delicate frame, and using his knees to slowly spread her legs apart and position himself above her, his eyes never leaving hers.

_He loves me._ She whispered internally to herself.

Forehead leaning down and touching hers, wet hair brushing against her head, he asked suddenly, "Is this a dream?"

Arya's scorching emerald eyes bore into his. Unable able to help the form of affection, she gently nudged her nose against his cheek and pressed herself against him. "A dream?" she whispered, grinding against him dangerously, and watching as his mouth parted weakly in response. "No, this is real."

Enough waiting, enough taunting. The last trace of nervousness vanished from Eragon's expression. Arya drew in a gasping breath, hands slipping down to the sheets beneath her. Eragon braced himself over Arya, their foreheads still locked. Steadily, as gently as he could, and with both their hearts racing, he eased into her and groaned softly as he entered her.

For several heartbeats, they remained perfectly still, Arya's hands clenched to the sheets while Eragon fought to control his sudden shivering. He had waited… he had waited so long for her, ever since his confused emotions on the glades of Tronjheim, from the walk to the Menoa Tree, to the heart wrenching night of the Agaetí Blödhren, the battle of the Burning Plains, to _this_ moment. After all his recklessness, after all his efforts to win her heart, he could finally have her, and take her for himself.

And she him.

Eragon began to move, hips rubbing against hers with gentle ease. Arya's grip on the sheets tightened as she gasped into his shoulder. His lips found hers again, and Arya's response to them was immediate, leaning her head up to deepen the kiss, brutally scourging every inch of his mouth, gritting her teeth when Eragon moved again, and causing her to moan against his mouth. She lost her grip in the sheets, bringing her hands to his neck as she started nibbling on Eragon's ear lobe, setting her mouth on a different task to stop herself from moaning. Even now she worked to restrain herself.

Eragon's breathing had grown rough, and Arya had to force herself to slow her own. This was a moment to savour, and Arya kept the pace leisurely as she began to move with him, vaguely trying to ease her quickening breaths. Eragon subsided down, pressing their nude bodies together in a heated moment as he chastely sucked her neck, moving his lips within the hollow area, and kissing her skin with light, wet pecks. Arya closed her eyes, the feeling of his lips against her skin sent her begging for more until he compelled to her will, pressing against her harder and thrusting, hard.

After the first shock of pleasure, sensation so intense it blotted out all thought, Eragon managed to win back some control of his breathing and his mind. He slid his hands up Arya's hips, thrusting into her with a rough groan escaping his mouth. Arya whimpered, her nails catching his shoulders, her eyes pleading. Arms wrapping tightly around his neck, she arched her back up, hips rising to meet his thrusts and rolling seductively. Their bodies moved after each wave of pleasure was brought upon them. Eragon's vision went red and white, blurring him each time he plunged himself into her, hips grinding against her own, the heat growing, and becoming a smouldering fire in the pit of his stomach.

Arya found herself moaning louder, helplessly in need, writhing under him as he kissed her neck, her shoulder, lips seemingly catching every soft spot on her body and thrusting into her again. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he continued his pace, hearing her own gasps and whimpers resound throughout the room, seeping over through the brink of pleasure. She was unable to stop the sounds escaping her mouth, for what was happening to her… what _he_ was doing to her, it was something she could have never possibly fathomed until now. Bucking helplessly into his thrusts uncontrollably, Arya cried out, voice staggering throughout the room. She gritted her teeth when he only did it again, sheathing into her harder, deeper, and faster. He grunted every time, and it enticed her to roll against him harder. Arya didn't want it to end. She had wanted it _so much_, only, she hadn't known until barely a few moments ago. She didn't care if it had been too quick, didn't care what it could possibly lead to in the future. There was a war, yes, but any moment could be their last, and she wouldn't take that chance. It was happening _now_, and she didn't want to let it go.

She released his shoulders, hands trembling as she raked them through his hair. Eragon pressed his lips against her throat, applying pressure when he moved again, rubbing his hips harder against hers. Flesh smacked together desperately. He bit her neck softly, sucking the same spot to ease what pain it may have caused, a brief surprise to Arya. His suave kisses increased, groaning against her neck when she dug her nails into his scalp, thrusting into her again, she only dug deeper as she yelped, bitting down on her bottom lip when she felt him go deeper, and tightening around him when he only didn't it again.

And she couldn't help it. "Eragon…" she found her voice without losing it, breathing heavily when his forehead came to rest on hers again, his brown eyes half closed through waves of pleasure coaxing throughout their bodies. "Ah!" She was begging him, her voice staggering when he didn't stop, thrusting into her again, lips pressing down on hers. She moaned against his lips, voice filtering through the air, with hands embedded into his hair. "Eragon… harder… please… go faster…" she bit his lip impulsively and Eragon cried out.

Sweat trickled from Eragon's forehead, the tickling feeling running through his hair as it ran down his face, his body, everywhere. Arya could feel it on her skin, her hair sticking to her face as it dabbed out, slickening over them as their bodies moved together, the flushing heat between them never growing cold. A burning flame as their erotic cradle grew furthermore incited by their lust.

Again, he thrusted into her, their wet bodies moving together at an overwhelming pace. Slowly, he brought his hands up to hers, pulling at them, _forcing_ them out of his hair, she cried in protest but she complied regardless as she moaned loudly. His weight fell upon her, she gasped, breathing deeply when it caused his hips to fall against hers and driving him deeper. When her hands were free from his hair, Eragon gripped them tightly and pulled them over her head. Holding them tightly at the head of the bed, he securing them from snaking anywhere else. She struggled against his grip, having no distinct clue to what he was doing as he held her hands in place. She fell to his will, giving him what he obviously wanted and laid there, panting heavily as she starred at him, and he her.

Eragon subsided his breathing, and gently, he eased almost all the way out. Arya whimpered, her hands trying to escape his grip, writhing underneath his body helplessly with no successes. As she had noticed throughout the night, he wasn't one to give in easily, he would not let her go, and her eyes were just as pleading as her voice had been…

And then he thrusted all the way in with an answer to her plea, hips cramming against hers, eyes filling with water as he whispered huskily into her ear, "Arya…" His own voice spoken with such need and passion, longing and lust, all for her, accompanied by such a deeply satisfying sensation mellowed in an overwhelming groan. His voice caught at the back of his throat. Arya's teeth clenched on a scream of pleasure, arms straining as Eragon kept them in place. Her world went spiralling, her back arched completely off the bed as she flung her head back, her legs locking around his waist.

It seemed only the beginning. No words existed for this, whether they were pure emotion or poetically coherent, no words existed. How it felt to be within her, to hear her moan loudly with each hard thrust he possessed, to know that she actually wanted him, after all that had transpired between them in the past… she had _really wanted him_.

So close now; after withstanding the heart aches, the denials, the rejections, the pleasure of having her _now_ was almost unbearable. Eragon hadn't stopped, his sudden drive of lust after her pleading kept him at his overwhelming pace. He found her lips again, engaging them with his own, passion leaping into his head, hands gripping tighter on Arya's wrists. Arya leaned up into the kiss, fingernails severally digging into her palms as she moaned against his lips uncontrollably, almost loosing herself completely through the erotic pleasure he continued to give her, even when she felt herself on the brick of tears, tears of joy, happiness, relief even… but still he drove deep and fast.

Electric sensations seemed to leap through his veins, every muscle tensing. He could hear her heart beating in time with his own as he pressed against her, hearing her yelping cries against his lips. Her eyes were closed, painfully shut when he saw the single tear seep from her closed lids. She looked like she was in pain, lips grinding against his with every soft whimper, but she drove him deeper when she bucked her hips harder into his thrust, only tempting for more by her movements.

His fingers suddenly numb, he released Arya's wrists, feeling them fling straight away from his grasp. He was close, he could feel it coming. Eragon kept his lips to hers, soothing his breaths for only brief moments before returning to her. Arya's hands clawed down his back, gripping at the skin. Her legs tightened aground his waste, and by the pleading note in her voice, Eragon could tell she was close, too. Any moment, one more moment, everything was becoming a blur, the room echoing with sounds of pure desire and pleasure. Both of them would reach the apex together…

Eragon's hands gripped the crumpled sheets ruffling under their movements, bracing himself on both her sides. He rose slightly, Arya's legs slipping from her waist. He kneeled above her, spreading her legs further as he settled hotly between. He looked down at her once, admiring what was finally his, before he plunged int her deeply again with his final thrust, head arching back, his life spilling into her after so long awaited. Emerald eyes shot open, the world around her suddenly becoming white-hot as she arched back. Arya's nails, once more, raked his shoulders as pleasure stormed through her fast. She cried out almost as if in pain, and near screaming.

His hands lost their grip, sweaty palms releasing the sheets, his support lost. Eragon fell against Arya, both falling hard against the bed, and crying out as their bodies tumbled against each other, weakness engulfing them as they panted heavily. With the remaining strength he had left, he eased out of her, her soft little whimper following as he fell to the bed again. For a very long time they simply lay like that, both of them still shaking in the aftermath of such intense moment. Eragon had collapsed on top of her, his head resting on her shoulder, catching his breath, and eyes closed. Arya was stiff, her eyes wide open as her body hummed with the burning of her ecstasy. And when at last she suddenly tilted her head to the side and met with a bundle of brown hair, she smiled softly. She brought her arms up, shaking slightly, and held one around his neck and the other on his back, sighing deeply when she nestled closer against him, their flushed and heated bodies pressing together in sweet content.

At last, when Arya caught her breath, she spoke the words that she had been meaning to express when she first arrived, the reason why she had come to see him in the first place, something she should have done before the exception of being a stubborn elf. The truth.

"I think," she said, "That I love you." Soft and mellowed in the ancient language, and her words could be no more truthful. "Yes. I do." She felt him smile against her shoulder, his arm slipping up to her other shoulder and moving his head so it rested under her chin, his skin soft against hers and damp. They were savouring the feeling of being surrounded by one another in such an unkemptly fashion.

"You know I love you too, then?"

Her smile only deepened, nothing but the rain to accompany them as they fell into their trance, and for the first time in a long time, they felt relaxed and peaceful, nestled together safely…

And the lone candle finally burnt out, and darkness shimmered within the rain.

_I've always believed in the angel on my shoulder,  
And the sweetness that comes with changes in weather,  
So let's close the drapes,  
And dance like we're strangers to time,  
Until our fountain runs dry._

_Gretchen Lieberum: Angel on my Shoulder_

* * *

**_Finnito._**


End file.
